


A Way in the Wilderness

by toomanysecrets



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Character of Faith, F/M, Family, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-21 16:10:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17046752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toomanysecrets/pseuds/toomanysecrets
Summary: "There were rules in the religious life.  But no one ever told me what the rules were afterwards. I think perhaps I have to write my own."





	A Way in the Wilderness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dynapink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dynapink/gifts).



> Thanks to yuletide discord chatters [Vae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vae/), [mlraven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mlraven/), mkrobinson & bastet_of_orion for help with many different aspects of this work, and in particular [Karios](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karios/) for continual encouragement, brainstorming help, and ensuring that I didn't default.
> 
> Also thanks to real-life friends LR for a general once-over and EN for answering the panicked contextless facebook message "help, how do you say 'coat closet' in British English??"

**1\. Shelagh is still the same person.**

The first thing Shelagh notices when she returns from the sanatorium is that the streets of Poplar are somehow more crowded and less friendly. It’s very disconcerting, until she realizes that the difference is not Poplar, but her. Without her habit, the people in the street walk closer, and jostle her, and ignore her when she passes. It’s somewhat comforting that none of them see her, since part of her feels like she has done something scandalous by leaving the church for a man. Shelagh finds herself starting to mimic them, staring off into the distance and not making eye contact.

Until she stops short in the middle of the High Street one day. She is not ashamed to be marrying Patrick, and she is still the same person who has treated half the families in Poplar. Pulling herself up a little taller, she smiles at the pack of children running home from primary school, and casts about until she finds someone she knows.

“Mrs Richards! How is little Simon today?” She leans over and tucks the baby’s blanket a little tighter around him in his pram.

Mrs Richards looks confused for only half a second before she smiles fondly at Simon and then at Shelagh. “He’s doing ever so well, nurse. He can sit up by himself now and he still wants to eat all the bloody time.”

Shelagh’s laugh comes easily when Mrs Richards doesn’t look horrified to have cursed in front of a nun.

 

**2\. When you don’t know the rules, you can ask for help.**

Shelagh knows that she needs some new clothes. Her old clothes are terribly worn, and ten years out of fashion. She’d like nothing more than to invite the younger nurses out to help her shop for a few things, but they’re all very busy with work and their own lives.

Plus, any attempt to contact them would risk an encounter with the Sisters.

Mrs Gee’s shop is small and quiet and out of the way, and Shelagh had always liked the older woman when she went in to buy things for Nonnatus House. “Excuse me,” she says when the shopkeeper turns from arranging goods in the front window. “I’m afraid I need some help.”

“Of course, dear–” Shelagh can see exactly when Mrs Gee recognizes her. “Come in. What do you need?”

“I don’t know what a doctor’s wife wears.” She knows what the younger nurses wear when they’re off duty, and she knows what the housewives of Poplar wear when they’re home, or out to do the shopping. But Shelagh hasn’t had to pick out any of her clothes in years. The prospect both excites and frightens her.

Mrs Gee smiles broadly. “I see! Congratulations. Why don’t you come back to the fitting room, and we’ll figure it out.”

An hour later, Shelagh has collected two conservative slim fitted suits, a hat, stockings, a long, warm coat, and instructions on what to buy at the shoe store. She’ll need more clothes, but these should be sufficient until the wedding, and she needs to be careful with the limited funds that Sister Julienne returned to her when she left the Order.

“You’ll need makeup, too. Do you know how to use it?”

Shelagh nods and smiles at Mrs Gee’s bright blue eyeshadow. She always preferred something more subtle herself. “Yes, I think so.” It’s been so long.

“Well, if you need help, come on by and we’ll work on it, alright?”

“Thank you, Mrs Gee, that’s very kind of you, but I should be fine.”

“Well, you know where I’ll be.” She pauses. “You must be excited about the wedding. Are you nervous?”

Shelagh presses her lips together and looks over at Mrs Gee’s window display. “A little. But mostly just excited.”

The shopkeeper smiles. “Well, if you have any questions about… marriage… I’m here every day. Best of luck, dear.”

Shelagh can feel a blush creeping into her cheeks as she nods, gathers her parcels, and steps outside into the crisp December air.

 

**3\. Enjoying oneself is not inherently sinful.**

When Shelagh enters the Turners’ flat after the wedding, it’s with a sense of relief. She’s been spending a lot of time here lately, more than some would say was proper. Even Shelagh herself was pretty sure it hadn’t been proper, but it was so much more comfortable and friendly and lived-in than her room at the boarding house. And she had such fun with Patrick and Timothy. Now the Turners’ flat will be her home officially. With an inward chuckle she realizes that she’s a Turner now, so of course the Turners’ flat is her home.

Timothy turns and wraps his arms around her. “I’m so glad you’re never leaving!”

Shelagh laughs and hugs him back. “I’m glad too. But I think I’ll probably have to leave sometimes.”

Patrick smiles as he reaches to help her with her coat. “We’ll make exceptions for visiting and shopping and if you’d like to help out at the clinic.” When Patrick reaches for her, it’s friendly and familiar, like Timothy’s hug, but also very different. The side of her head fits neatly against his chest, and his arms feel warm and safe and protective. She can smell his cologne, strong up close, and under it, a scent that’s just him. She’s been aware of both for years, subtly there for every difficult birth and clinic visit. Her heart beats faster and she is torn between pulling away and enjoying the feeling of being held. This is no longer improper but definitely unfamiliar.

Patrick kisses the top of her head and then pulls back and rubs her shoulders. “Welcome home, Mrs Turner.”

That evening, Shelagh retires to Patrick’s bedroom to unpack some of her things into a new chest of drawers that Patrick has purchased just for her. It’s the only piece of brand-new furniture that she’s ever had, and that makes the whole idea that this is her new bedroom for her new life even stranger. She’s methodically placing her stockings and undergarments neatly into the top drawer, and pointedly not looking at the big double bed that dominates the room. Somehow it seems both enormous and not large enough.

Patrick appears at the doorway and she starts. Shelagh hopes he didn’t notice. “Do you need any help? I’ve cleared out room in the wardrobe for you, and we keep the suitcases at the back of the cupboard in the hall.”

“No, thank you. I really don’t have much. Vow of poverty, you know.” 

Patrick smiles. “I’ll be in the parlor if you need anything.”

Later, after Timothy has gone to bed, Patrick sits on the settee smoking a cigarette and reading while Shelagh flutters nervously around the flat.

“Shelagh? Are you alright? Would you like a puff?”

She smiles. “Always.”

He holds his cigarette for her while she leans towards him. “You can come sit with me, I don’t bite. And I promise to share.” She chuckles and settles on the settee next to him.

“Are you settling in alright? Are you sure there’s nothing you need?”

“Not right now, thank you.”

Patrick shifts and puts his arm up on the back of the settee, so there is a place for her next to him. “I’m glad you changed your mind about having the sisters at the wedding. They are all so happy for you, every last one of them was crying. Even Sister Evangelina.”

Shelagh actually laughs. “Of course Sister Evangelina cried.” She pauses, and the fire pops in the fireplace and the cold winter breeze rattles the windows gently. “I’m glad too. It wouldn’t really have felt… real… without them there.”

“So you’re saying we’re really married now?” He holds out his cigarette for her and she slides closer into the space he’s left for her.

She smiles and takes another drag.

“Shelagh… if the ‘wedding night’ is what’s making you so nervous… we don’t have to do anything that you’re not comfortable with. That wouldn’t be a good time for either of us.”

Shelagh wills her cheeks to stop flushing because, after all, this is actually her husband she is talking to. Even if she mentally stumbles over the word. But hiding the truth from her new husband wouldn’t be a good start to the rest of her life. She swallows. “I’m a little nervous. I feel old, and uncertain, and innocent. Most of our patients started… being intimate... with their husbands when they were fifteen years younger than I am now.”

“But I didn’t want to marry any of them. I don’t love any of them. I wanted to marry you, and I still can’t quite believe I'm lucky enough to have actually done it. You wouldn’t be the person you are now without the time you spent at Nonnatus House. We might never even have met.” Patrick takes another drag himself, and Shelagh is secretly pleased to see that he is a little nervous too. “We’ll be married for a long time. If you don’t want to rush into anything, we can wait.”

She makes herself look him in the eye. “I don’t want to wait. I’m nervous, but I don’t want to wait.”

Patrick looks almost comically relieved, and Shelagh laughs. “I don’t want to either.”

“I… I don’t know if it’s the right time.”

Patrick cocks his head quizzically.

“My cycle… it’s been irregular since the TB.”

Patrick wraps his arm around her shoulders and pulls her towards him gently. “Oh.” She tries to relax against his side. “For me, it’s the right time because I love you, and you’re my wife, and I’m attracted to you, and it would be fun and feel good.”

Shelagh stares at the fire as she tries to digest what Patrick’s said. She knows, of course, the theory behind how all this works. But somehow the idea that they might do something so undignified just because it feels good seems a little daunting.

She takes another drag on Patrick’s cigarette.

Patrick smiles mischievously at her. “Of course, if we don’t know when the right time is, it might be now and we should hop to it.”

Shelagh actually laughs, a full, deep laugh. Patrick moves in to kiss her and slides a hand onto her knee. Shelagh takes a deep breath, focuses on her husband’s smiling face, and leans in.

Afterwards, she lies curled up in the crook of Patrick’s arm processing what’s just happened. Patrick is asleep, his hair mussed and flopped over his forehead. The wind outside has calmed and it’s snowing softly, but Shelagh is comfortably warm in the heat radiating from Patrick’s body. She can tell she’ll be sore in the morning. But she’s the most relaxed she’s been in a long time, probably since before she started questioning her life in the Order.

She looks around the room, taking in her new life, her new home, her new bedroom, her new bed, her new husband. He was right. Sex with Patrick felt good, and it was fun. She snuggles against his side and snakes an arm around his chest. This feels like an excellent way to fall asleep, every night for the rest of her life. Tonight was a right time.

 

**4\. There are many ways to be of service.**

Sitting at the desk in the Maternity Home, organising Patrick’s schedule of home visits for the next few days while Angela sleeps in a pram in the corner, Shelagh’s new life feels entirely the same as her old one and at the same time completely different. She wears a different uniform now, which is less comfortable but much smarter, and cooler in the summer. She still chats with the nurses and the Sisters about their patients and their lives, but now her own life is so much fuller. And there is always the endless progression of antenatal checkups, labouring mothers, nervous fathers, and squalling newborns.

Shelagh had entered the Order of St. Raymond Nonnatus to live a life of service and purpose, to be truly useful and to follow God’s will. The prospect of giving that up had occupied her thoughts the entire time that she was recovering in the sanatorium.

The door slams open, revealing a heavily pregnant Mrs Rogers, gasping and clutching at her wild-eyed husband.

Shelagh hides a smile as she gets up to help them. Some parts of her life have definitely not changed. Angela has stirred with all the commotion but is already settling back to sleep.

Mrs Rogers and her family need her. She sends Mr Rogers off to fetch Patrick from his house call, and helps Mrs Rogers get settled into one of the beds between contractions. Time to do God’s work.

 

**5\. It's easier to be a friend to someone who is not also your boss.**

Shelagh neatens the stacks of pink and blue cards, watching Sister Ursula walk away. She supposes there is no harm in trying a new scheduling system, but her first encounter with the acting head of Nonnatus House has left her feeling a little affronted.

When the nurses and the sisters arrive to set up the clinic, Shelagh can feel the tension in the air. It’s not until Sister Winifred finds her in the kitchen as she’s fetching water for the tea urn that she discovers what’s happened. Glancing repeatedly over her shoulder as if Sister Ursula might burst in at any moment and scold her to get back to work (and she might, Shelagh thinks, mentally rolling her eyes), Sister Winifred finally whispers, “Do you think you might come round tonight, and just be there if she wants to have a chat?” Then she scampers back into the waiting room, looking almost panicked.

“Of course, Sister,” Shelagh calls after her fleeing form.

When Shelagh arrives at Nonnatus House in time for supper, Patsy grins and pulls her inside. “Mrs Turner, it’s so nice to see you,” she calls loudly towards the dining room.

“I’ve just missed everyone so, while we were away. I thought it would be nice to visit.”

Patsy lowers her voice so only Shelagh can hear. “Thanks for coming.”

“How’s she doing?” Shelagh whispers back.

“She’s putting a good face on it, but it’s hard to tell what’s really going on.” They exchange a worried look and head into the dining room.

Supper at Nonnatus House is for once a distinctly chilly affair. Sister Ursula sees fit to comment on Shelagh’s unplanned appearance, even though there is plenty of food. Everyone except Sister Ursula seems to be concentrating mostly on stuffing themselves on roast chicken and dumplings, and not on making conversation.

It’s not much better when they adjourn to the parlor for handicrafts.

“Ooh, what are you working on?” Barbara asks her, in an obvious attempt to relax everyone and make the evening feel normal.

Shelagh stares at her knitting. “It’s a baby jumper... for the charity box.” She mentally excuses her lie because if something goes wrong, or if she’s mistaken about her recent health issues, this jumper _will_ go in the charity box.

She knows she’s not mistaken.

Now that Sister Julienne’s office is not her office anymore, Shelagh isn’t sure where they can have a real conversation, so she’s glad when Sister Julienne finishes the habit she's mending and settles her hands in her lap. “Would anyone like more tea?”

Shelagh puts down her knitting. “Why don’t I give you a hand, Sister.” As she follows Sister Julienne out of the room, she sees relieved looks exchanged by almost everyone in the parlor. It’s both reassuring and a little intimidating, since she has no idea yet what she is going to say.

In the kitchen, Sister Julienne puts the kettle on while Shelagh finds a plate and some biscuits. Sister Ursula won’t like it, but Shelagh is not above jollying her friends out of their morose moods with some treats. And she doesn't report to Sister Ursula anyway.

After they’ve completed their tasks, Sister Julienne smiles her kind, genuine smile. “Thank you for visiting this evening, Shelagh.”

“It’s nice to be welcome here. Nonnatus House will always be a home for me.” It’s time to get down to it, she supposes. “Sister… are you alright?”

Sister Julienne stares at her for a few seconds, and then shrugs, exhaling loudly and staring fixedly at the dishes drying in the rack on the counter. “I have to be.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Sister Julienne looks back at her but her smile doesn’t reach her whole face this time. “It’s very kind of you to be concerned.”

“Of course I’m concerned.”

“It… just doesn’t make sense to me. I’ve never had any indication from the Mother House that my performance here has been lacking in any way.”

“That’s because it hasn't been. You know that, and you know that this doesn’t make sense to anyone else here either.”

“And that’s a problem. There will be unpleasantness and disagreement and unhappiness.”

“Well, since I don’t technically work here anymore, I hope it’s not a problem that this doesn’t make sense to _me_.”

Sister Julienne actually chuckles. “No, that’s not a problem, and it does make me feel better.”

“I’m glad. Everyone here would support you if you wanted to question this decision.”

“I know. But it is not my place to do so.”

Shelagh might disagree with that assessment now, but she knows how the religious life works.

The kettle whistles and Sister Julienne busies herself pouring.

“I’m very concerned about Sister Mary Cynthia. She needs a gentler hand than Sister Ursula’s.”

“Yes, that concerns me too.”

“I’ll be monitoring the situation, even if it’s no longer appropriate. The stakes are too high.”

“That sounds like an excellent idea.”

Sister Julienne gives an uncharacteristic sigh. “Let’s hope.”

Together, they collect everyone’s tea and head back to the parlor.

 

**6\. Being married to a real person is harder than being married to God.**

Shelagh would be the first to admit that she is maybe not in the best mood. Clinic was chaotic and noisy and being back at work while pregnant has been harder on her than she wants to admit. So when she arrives at home to find Patrick’s overcoat hanging over the back of one of their dining chairs again, it is time to have a talk with him.

“Patrick! It’s awfully hypocritical of you to scold Timothy for not being ‘disciplined’ enough to keep his room clean when you’re always leaving your coat out!” Patrick appears at the door to the bedroom, tie half-untied and eyes wide as he stares at his usually mild-mannered wife. “It’s already hard to fit all four of us at the table and the cupboard is right there. Right there!” She jabs a finger towards it for emphasis and then storms towards the bedroom herself. Patrick shrinks his much taller frame out of her way.

“I’m sorry, Shelagh. I didn’t know it bothered you.”

“Were you just not listening when I told you last week then?” Shelagh glares at him as she unpins her uniform cap.

Patrick looks concerned. “Is something else wrong?”

“No, I’d just appreciate it if you could help keep the flat tidy. Would it be so hard to put your coat away when you come in?”

“No, it wouldn’t, and I’ll try to remember in future.”

Shelagh is struggling to unzip her maternity uniform, and he moves to help her. His nearness and his hands on her back calm her and she takes a deep breath, closing her eyes.

“We need more space, Patrick. I know this flat worked well for you when it was just you and Timothy, but you’re not just you and Timothy anymore.”

“I know, and I’m so glad of it, but moving house is such a hassle, and any new place we live will be so much more expensive.” He sits down on the bed and watches her as she continues to change out of her uniform.

“So we need to sit down together and figure out what we can afford, because this is not working anymore. We can’t make Timothy share a small room with a toddler and a newborn.”

“It’s not ideal, but in a few years he’ll be off to university.”

“No, Patrick. That’s not an option. We can’t do this for another three years. Timothy needs his own space.”

“Our patients do it all the time. We just need to be a little more organized.”

Shelagh sighs, exasperated. In ten years of being married to the Lord, He had never argued with her like this.

“Our patients do it because they have no other options. Do you think anyone in Poplar wouldn’t jump at the chance to live in a bigger flat with room for everyone? We have the money, Patrick, and we should use it to solve this problem.”

“Shelagh, with our jobs, we’re so busy all the time. I don’t want to spend all of our off hours looking for a new place, I want to spend them with my family.”

“As it is your family is cranky all the time because we’re constantly tripping over each other.” Patrick rolls his eyes. “And it could be fun, finding a perfect new place for our family. Finding a place for Angela and the baby to grow up.”

A shadow falls over Patrick’s face, and immediately vanishes.

And there it is, she knows. That while she is excited at the prospect of finding a new home to make a new start with their family, Patrick would be leaving behind the place where Timothy grew up, where he lived a different life with his previous wife.

Shelagh isn’t jealous, really. She has some sympathy. She sees her friends from her previous life almost every day, and that helps her integrate her past into her present in a way that makes her feel whole and complete.

“Patrick, I know that moving would be complicated and unpleasant. But we can’t continue like this. I upended my whole life for the benefit of our family, and your life barely changed at all. Can’t you make some changes too?”

Patrick stands up and grips her shoulders, staring into her face. “Shelagh… my life changed immeasurably for the better when you agreed to be my wife. Never think that’s not the case.” He kisses the top of her head and wraps his arms around her. She smiles against his chest, somewhat placated.

“But you’re right, my transition was a lot easier.”

Shelagh looks up at him. “I understand that change can be difficult, I really do. But given the life we’re leading now, I think this is necessary. Let’s at least see what’s available.”

He kisses the top of her head and squeezes her. “You’re right, of course. That’s why I married you.” She smacks his arm playfully, and he grabs her hand and kisses it. “I’ll make some calls.”

 

**7\. God is always listening.**

Shelagh takes a deep breath of the warm spring air and smiles, watching Angela run ahead, burning off some youthful exuberance. Teddy is, miraculously, sitting relatively still in his pram and watching the shoppers and the stallholders in the market. Everything feels fresh and new. Winter is finally over and Teddy has slept through the last three nights. Shelagh hasn’t felt this well-rested in years.

Midwives and nurses and the doctor’s wife are used to keeping odd hours, but she could really get used to this. While she had always appreciated the ritual of group prayer in the religious life, she never grew to appreciate the early hours of Morning Prayer. If God is everywhere, then shouldn’t He be able to hear her prayers whenever she chose to think them?

“Mrs Turner?” Shelagh turns to find a familiar-looking women in a smart blue hat pushing another pram. She stares quizzically for a few seconds, and then she smiles broadly.

“Mrs Venables?” The contrast between the bright, pleasant spring day and the dim, solemn hospital ward where she last saw Mrs Venables couldn’t be more marked.

Mrs Venables nods. “It’s so nice to see you again! What’s this little chap’s name?”

“This is Teddy. He’s almost eighteen months old now.” Teddy knows he’s being discussed and gives the other woman a toothy, charming smile. “And who’s this?”

Mrs Venables beams. “This is Caroline. She’s just four months.” Caroline is asleep in her pram, well-swaddled against the slight chill of the early spring. Her jumper, blanket and hat have been knit to match and they are clearly brand new.

Shelagh peers into the pram, blinking away sudden, unexpected tears. “Oh, she’s an absolute angel. I’m so happy to meet her.”

Clearly, God has been listening to Shelagh’s prayers, even if she waits until after sunrise to say them.

 

**8\. God has a plan.**

“Mummy,” Angela asks as Shelagh pulls the hairbrush through her long, fine blond hair, so unlike Shelagh’s own, “Can I have another sandwich in my lunch today?”

“Of course, dear. You’re growing into such a big strong girl!” Dividing the the hair into neat sections so she can make plaits, Shelagh can feel Angela stop fidgeting and tense. Angela has always had to be encouraged to eat enough, so Shelagh is not surprised in the least that there is something else to this request. There’s no sense in pressing it though — Angela will likely just tell her when she feels comfortable — so Shelagh just keeps twisting the hair through her fingers, careful not to pull too hard.

Halfway through the second plait, Angela finally speaks. “Eleanor never brings anything to eat for lunch.” Twist, twist, twist. “And she never smiles.”

“I see.” Angela has never mentioned Eleanor before, but Shelagh is in a unique position to know the obstetrical history of everyone in her class. Eleanor is the fourth of six children, and Mr Anderson was injured last year in an accident on the docks.

“Well, maybe we can help.” Shelagh ties a bright red ribbon — Angela’s favorite colour — around the end of the second plait and reaches for the bread bin.

Before she hands Angela her lunch, she slips in an extra biscuit, too.

At the door, Angela hugs her around her middle and buries her face in Shelagh’s side. “Mummy, tonight can we write a letter to Tim?”

“If you keep working hard at school, soon you won’t need my help!” Angela smiles shyly, proud of herself. Her writing has really improved since Tim went off to university. Shelagh makes her write at least a few words of every letter herself, and she asks to write at least three times every week. “Run along now, Sharon’s already waiting for you. Have a good day at school, dear.” Angela unwraps herself from around Shelagh’s waist, calls a goodbye to her brother, playing with his trucks on the coffee table, and sets off to where her friend is waiting at the corner.

Shelagh stands in the doorway, watching her daughter run off to school with her blond plaits and red ribbons flying behind her. Every day she marvels that she came so close to never meeting and knowing and loving this wonderful child. That without a year of sadness and carefully-controlled rage and feeling broken and betrayed, without questioning the path God had set for her, that path would never have led her to become Angela’s mother. The thought terrifies her. That’s how she knows that her life is proceeding according to plan.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Isaiah 43:19: Behold, I will do a new thing; now it shall spring forth; shall ye not know it? I will even make a way in the wilderness, and rivers in the desert.


End file.
